


BDSM Therapy: a collection of tales

by CalamityCain



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage and Discipline, Collars, Dom/sub, Kink Exploration, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape Fantasy, Rope Bondage, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: After traversing a history of relationship turbulence, a foray into bondage, domination and submission ends up bringing them closer than they've ever been
Relationships: Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot
Comments: 20
Kudos: 15





	1. Wrap the Night Around Me

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This short collection of stories partly owes its existence to my regular partner in crime Saffiaan
> 
> 2) I dedicate these also to MartinTello15, for whom language is no barrier to leaving lovely comments in Spanish on one of my fics

Silken nylon, the colour of blood. Watching the rope's winding movements around his wrists was oddly hypnotic. The tightening of each knot made his heart skip a beat, and with every tug he fell deeper into surrender. The room was an ocean of calm; the wood was cool and hard against his knees. He heard nothing but the voice of his beloved, to whom he had offered his outstretched hands and his freedom.

"Get up." He obeyed. Time slowed down as he was guided like a prisoner to the bed. He was told to lie down. The ceiling seemed higher and wider to his altered consciousness, an expanse of ivory sky with tiny cracks he had never been aware of before. His bound arms were being stretched above him and tied to the metal bedposts. Judas' movements were reassuringly steady. Jesus wondered vaguely if he'd had practice. Then all such thoughts fled as Judas' mouth claimed his, tongue shoving itself past his lips while fingers gripped him tightly enough to bruise, leaving an exquisite echo of pain that made him push his body upward to meet it. This earned him a hard smack on the thigh. "Don't move until I tell you to."

He bit back a whimper and stilled himself. This was the test, and the thrill. To restrain himself as much as he was being restrained. To allow himself to be reduced and whittled down to an object of pleasure without will and agency. From the moment he had received his first order - in all their years together, Judas had never once spoken to him quite like that - he had found himself slipping steadily into a mindless calm intertwined with a deep thrill that magnified every sensation and made him intensely aware of inhabiting his own flesh as never before.

They had agreed to keep the ropework to a minimum. The next time he would be tied up a little more, perhaps with his legs forced apart for good measure. The thought had made him shiver with both want and trepidation. Even now, as Judas held his thighs apart to leave a trail of stinging kisses on their insides, his mounting lust was laced with a tinge of fear, and he wondered if this was normal.

_Don't think. Just go with it. You've talked this through; nothing will happen that you haven't planned for._

Judas' tongue was proving its skill in navigating the intricate clefts and curves of his nether regions, teasing him into a dizzying madness that made him groan and arch upwards reflexively, thoughtlessly. For this he received a light slap on the face. This in itself only served to arouse him more. His arms were starting to ache from the way he tensed and pulled at his bonds without meaning to. More love bites nipped at the tender skin of his inner thigh, moving upward to his hip, his belly, and all the while those steady hands were marking him to make sure he knew who he belonged to.

"Judas," he pleaded. The name of his lover was all he could say. He was not allowed to beg, to make demands. The torments of Judas' tongue kept pushing him to the brink only to pull him back. The strain on his obedience was both maddening and delicious. He let loose a sound of need when the licking and sucking came to a halt and he was left painfully hard with no release forthcoming. Another slap - harder this time; if he could he would have orgasmed there and then. Instead he was left breathless and aching and burning with an intensity utterly new to him.

With his hips still locked in place, a finger began teasing his opening, a prelude of what was to come - if he behaved, presumably. The same finger stroked the underside of his cock and did such things as to render him breathless. “Judas,” he gasped again. Several times he begged with the name of the one who owned him, whose mercies he was not allowed to solicit save in the softest of whimpers. 

Judas did not grace him with a response, but reached to the bedside for a length of cloth that matched the colour of the ropes. He kissed Jesus on the lips, on the neck, before instructing him to lift his head to make way for the blindfold. Jesus’ heart began pounding as the fabric wound around his head twice, thrice, enveloping him in darkness. He turned his head for the assurance of his lover’s mouth, but Judas was gone.

“Stay still,” came the order. “I’ll take care of you in a while.” Jesus nodded. Everything would be fine. Things were going according to plan.

He drew a deeper breath into his lungs, calming himself. Focusing on the thrill of being deprived of both movement and sight. His sharpened senses picked up the most minute sounds: the ticking of the clock, the faint thrum of a car engine from outside. But as soon as he heard Judas’ footsteps leave the room, the thrill slid rapidly into a growing anxiety he could not shake off.

“Judas?” he called out. No answer. His mouth went dry. He shifted in an effort to find a more comfortable position, knowing it was not what he really sought. Trying to find something to fixate on other than the quickening of his heartbeat, he focused on other previously indiscernible sounds: faint voices from the distant outdoors, the rustle of the curtains, the hum of the ceiling fan. But all these little things only served to emphasize the fact that he was alone in a room that was ten times larger and more desolate in the formless dark that had become his whole world.

He needed to get out. Irrationality took over, making him pull at the ropes, which had the unfortunate effect of reminding him how helpless he was. His muscles were hurting from being so strained; yet the pain was the least of his worries. Anxiety turned to fear. Fear escalated into panic. He tried desperately to shake it off, but it only sank its claws in the harder he tried. Everything up till now had been so exquisite, and he knew he risked ruining it all if he gave up the game now. Except it no longer felt like a game. The terror was real. _You’re being stupid._ Terror sank into his every pore, turning him cold and robbing him of breath. _He’ll never abandon you. We talked about this._ “Judas?” He tried to call out louder, but he couldn’t breathe. _You’re safe. Everything’s going to plan._ “Judas...don’t leave me...Judas, I can’t…” 

He started to hyperventilate. It felt like drowning - like fighting an uncontrollable force trying to choke the life from his lungs. He didn’t realise he was arching and struggling uncontrollably until he felt the weight of Judas beside him, the almost painful relief of hearing his voice and the hands frantically trying to undo the knots binding his wrists. 

“Please. Judas. The blindfold...I can’t...please.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you say so?” The cloth was damp with tears he hadn’t been conscious of as it left his eyes. The chill of fear left him in a rush, leaving him a trembling wreck. “I’m sorry,” he kept murmuring, unable to stop, as his wrists were freed and his tortured sinews sent sharp shooting aches all down his arms and shoulders.

“Stop apologizing.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not. And I should have known better than to leave.”

“I-I don’t know what happened. I was fine at first.”

“You should have said something when you stopped feeling fine. I thought we agreed on that.” Judas’ hand was stroking his back, his hair, calming him until his heart slowed to its normal rate.

He leaned into Judas’ chest, still feeling a little ashamed, and knowing he had no reason to be. They were both still new to this, after all, and would be for a good while longer. “I don’t regret any of it,” he said at last with a sniffle. “What you were doing to me while I was tied up - it was incredible.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Judas kissed his forehead. Jesus arched into the soft gesture, then winced when a sudden movement reminded him that his shoulder muscles were a twitch away from screaming. Judas caught his cringe of pain and told him to lie back. 

“Mmm. Is that an order?”

Judas landed a light smack on the side of his thigh. “You bet.”

Jesus smiled and closed his eyes, savouring the sensation of Judas gently kneading his sore muscles. He had never felt so taken care of; it was deeply enjoyable and fulfilling in a way he barely had words for. After years of fucking and fighting and clinging to each other however many times they parted, he had never known his beloved to be capable of such things.

After the ache had subsided, he leaned into Judas’ embrace and asked, tentatively but eagerly: “Will you tie me up again tomorrow?”

“If you’re sure you’re ready.”

“Promise you won’t leave this time.”

“I promise.” Judas cursed as if just realising something. “You do realise we forgot to establish a goddamn safeword.”

“Mmm. We’ll do better next time.” Jesus’ lips were brushing his, demanding a kiss. With the last of the discomfort leaving his body, a pleasurable new tension was taking its place. He was all too aware of his nakedness against Judas’ still-clothed body. It was incredibly arousing – he felt himself getting hard all over again. “Are you going to finish what you started?” he asked, unable to keep the hunger from his voice.

“Only if you ask nicely.” Judas gave his waist and hips a firm squeeze. “And this time you’re allowed to properly beg.”


	2. Spanking Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little background to this AU: Simon is a sex worker on the side whose clientele include a handful of wealthy, kinky regulars through whom he learns the art of bondage and punishment (and passes on his knowledge to his good friends)
> 
> ~ if this seems like it came out of nowhere, I apologize; Saffiaan and I have been playing in this sandpit we made a little too long, and can't always be bothered to throw in a full backstory. For more shenanigans in the same universe, go back to where it all began with this series: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752191/chapters/59843461

“You know I’ll get the truth out of you eventually,” said Carmen, her shapely frame exuding the scent of sex and leather as she stood over the young man who had begun as her toy boy and ended up being so much more. Simon was well paid for his company. But they both knew the pleasure derived from each session was an equal exchange. Immensely fond of him as she was, though, there was nothing stopping Carmen from applying her polished black paddle to his backside until he cried. And he _would_ cry, or spill his secrets if he wanted her to stop before then.

“Have mercy, my lady,” Simon replied even as he tensed his shapely ass so as to present a particularly winsome sight for the eyes of his mistress. Already the flesh was slightly pink from a few well-placed blows. “I am sworn to secrecy, as I’ve already mentioned.”

“Hmm. I’ve obtained far more important secrets with far less effort.” Carmen swung her paddle twice, the sound of wood against flesh ringing pleasantly through the air. _Thwack. Thwack._ Simon wriggled but did not make a sound. It would take about six more hits before he started sighing. Four more to make him mewl. And then the fun would _really_ begin.

“I understand that an enduring friendship requires a sense of honour and loyalty,” she said as she stroked his hair. “If it helps, I can tell you that Jesus’ secrets end with me.”

Simon bit back a grin, the vulnerability of his position - hands tied behind his back, bent over an ottoman seat with his behind perfectly placed to receive what torments Carmen saw fit to bestow - making him harder with each minute. “You promise not to tell Lydia? You know how loose her tongue runs, even when you keep it busy.” Lydia was Carmen’s polyamorous lover and another of Simon’s loyal clients.

“You are in no position to make demands, pet.”

“Not a demand. Only a humble plea.”

“Hmm. I admire your principles. And so I shall concede.”

“And I can only tell you what I do know. Whatever I managed to glean between him and his boyfriend.”

“Of course.” A light whack to his rump sent a tingle up his spine. “Now get on with it.”

~

It had begun, as so many arguments between couples do, with dishes in the sink. Neither party had been able to come to a consensus on what was the ideal length of time for unwashed plates and crockery to occupy the sink before the responsible party needed to wash them. And it only took one or two pointed remarks at the end of a long workday for both to start bristling at the edges. 

Judas threw up his hands. "You know what? Forget it. I'll do them if it'll get you to shut up."

"No. It's fine." Jesus pushed past him to beat him to the sink, with the sort of tone that indicated things were anything but fine, and that he would likely not let this go for the next twenty four hours. At the least.

"If you keep being so goddamn difficult, I'll -"

"You'll what?"

The tension that had been reaching a plateau picked up again, but with a different, more electric timbre.

"I'll bend you over and spank you, for starters."

Jesus' hands went still over the dishes as his face coloured and his voice changed. "Do you mean that?"

Judas raised an eyebrow, his own heartbeat picking up as he thought of the paddle Simon had so willingly loaned them lying in the bedroom drawer. "I think you _need_ a good spanking now and then, don't you?"

Jesus bit back a smile and lowered his eyes, his argumentative air shifting into that mix of calm and anticipation - the submissive demeanour Judas was starting to be familiar with, and that made him warm with arousal. He stood leaning back with crossed arms, holding himself back until Jesus said the words he was waiting for.

“If you say so.”

~

“Hmmm. Absolutely delightful. And rather healthy, if I do say so myself.” Carmen teased Simon’s thighs with the paddle in a leisurely manner that provided a pleasant break between the blows. 

“You and Lydia ever settle arguments like that?”

"Lydia and I rarely have such mundane domestic disputes, unless she decides to start trouble in the hopes I'll show her a firm hand." Simon heard the smile in Carmen's voice and guessed that more often than not, they both got what they wanted.

"So tell me," she continued, sitting on the ottoman beside him in a mockingly ladylike pose, legs demurely crossed. "Did he take well to the paddle?" She swung her own against his ass; another _thwack_ rang across the room as he twitched and his cock followed suit.

"I'm guessing it did. Some of the more…descriptive parts I knew from James, whom Jesus has started confiding in when he needs someone more laidback to ask advice from. It helps that James is a natural-born sub like him."

"Oh yes, I could tell. I'm hoping James volunteered a good amount of information, or I may have to coax some out of him next."

Simon snorted. "You'll find he needs far less coaxing. Three to five hits and his slutty tongue will waggle."

"You've no right to call anyone slutty. Except perhaps Lydia." She reprimanded him teasingly with a light blow to his thigh. "Now, why don't you pick up where you left off?"

~

“Don’t forget the traffic light thing we talked about,” Judas said as he pulled the last knot that secured Jesus’ wrists behind his back. He was getting very good at knots. And Jesus did very much enjoy being the subject of his practice.

“I won’t.” Jesus had been the one to bring it up over dinner, tentatively at first, as if they hadn’t already committed to avoiding any more scenarios like the one where he’d had a panic attack after being blindfolded.

“Good. Now bend over.”

Jesus did as he was told, adjusting himself over the heap of pillows that had been arranged so that his behind was raised and his ass and thighs perfectly positioned to receive the punishment Judas had suggested he was in need of.

“I think thirty should do it, don’t you?” 

Jesus made a small sound of assent, his sex already flushed and firm from anticipation. The first smack landed - just a light one, but the entirely new sensation made him gasp. The second one came, just a little harder.

“I told you to count,” came the order. A third blow. “Three,” Jesus gasped. Another blow, and another, and another. “Four. Five. Six.”

By the tenth blow, he was starting to writhe. The stinging was definitely constant now, present and hot on his flesh even when the paddle gave him a few seconds of breather before the eleventh whack landed. “Twelve. Thirteen. Four - ohh. Orange. _Orange._ Please.”

Judas paused mid-swing. “Alright.” 

“Just...give me a minute.”

“Take as long as you need.” Judas laid aside the paddle and ran his hands softly over the taut curves of the warm stinging skin and the thighs beneath, the insides of which still bore faint marks of love bites from two days ago. His fingers teased all the parts that reduced Jesus to a wreck, enjoying the invariable effect such teasing always had. “Don’t torment me like that,” came the breathless complaint.

“You know, whining about your punishment is only likely to increase it.”

A shiver of delight ran through the naked back that ended in the securely bound wrists. Jesus had begun unconsciously grinding against the pillows in an effort to find release. Judas slapped his thigh. “None of that, now.”

“Nhhh,” came the frustrated moan, half-muffled from Jesus’ face being pressed into the bed. After a few seconds, he asked softly: “Are you going to continue?”

“If you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

Judas stroked the lower half of his back, causing him to quiver. “You stopped at fourteen. Start counting.”

~

“Well, well. The boys are learning nicely. You must be a good teacher.” Carmen referred to the fact of Simon having been the one to introduce the couple to such delights. Their initiation came with the privilege of borrowing from his wide array of toys – including the paddle similar to the one now being wielded against his bare ass.

“Not as good as I could have been. Ideally I’d be there holding their hands through it.” He chuckled at the thought. “There are still things they get wrong. Like setting clearer boundaries. Maybe I should offer an advanced tutorial.”

“They’ll get it eventually. I spent years perfecting my art. I’d be insulted were anyone to master it in just a week.” Carmen smiled at the vivid imagery that was doubtless playing in her head. “Though I have to give them credit for their enthusiasm.”

“Oh, yeah. Probably helps their relationship too. James and I have a bet going on how soon it starts to reduce the frequency of their fights.”

She smacked him lightly. “Is there _any_ thing you can’t turn into a trivial gamble?”

“Mmm. Well. I wouldn’t gamble on how ruthless you’re going to be with me if my story doesn’t satisfy you.”

“Clever boy. I wouldn’t risk it either, were I in your place.”

“To be fair, my queen, I can tell only the truth.”

She spanked him twice more. “Continue, then, my Scheherezade. And pray the truth is pleasing, that you get to keep your head.”

~

The paddle resumed its work. “Fifteen,” came the delightful gasp. “Sixteen. Seventeen…”

Judas was past the twenty-first hit when the tension running through Jesus’ entire body made him pause. “What colour are we at?”

“Green.”

“If you’re sure.” He was at number twenty-five when he realised Jesus had stopped counting. He lightened his blows considerably, trying to discern whether the increasingly shallow pants were those of pleasure or otherwise. In the end, Jesus cried out just short of the thirtieth and last hit. 

“Stop! _Please_ \- I mean red! _Red.”_

Judas dropped the paddle and started untying his wrists. “You hit red some time ago, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’re in pain. Don’t lie to me.” Judas tried to keep the sharpness from his voice, but it was hard when he was anxious about having pushed Jesus too far, again.

“I expect some pain is normal.” Jesus managed a shaky smile. “Wouldn’t be spanking without it.”

Judas pulled Jesus into his arms, wiping the traces of tears from his eyes. “You still need to decide how much you can handle.”

“I tried to - I really did -”

“Maybe stop trying, then. You tell me to stop when it stops being fun. Can we agree on this rule?”

Jesus nodded, his face turning as red as his sore behind. “I-I’m sorry I lied,” he murmured. “It was maybe more of orange than green. I was...I don’t know. I was turned on at the same time as it was starting to really hurt, and it was _confusing,_ and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“At least you did tell me to stop. When we first started this shit, you’d have kept silent and let me go on until…” Judas shook his head, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could have gone wrong. “Look. If you didn’t enjoy that, we won’t do it again.”

“But I did.” Jesus looked him straight in the eyes before leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll do better next time,” he promised after they parted.

“Don’t feel bad about it.”

“I just...I want you to enjoy it as much as I do.”

“I’ll enjoy reducing you to a crying wreck for the right reasons, not the wrong ones.” Judas lowered him flat onto his belly to rub some ointment into his sore flesh. “You’re always thinking of others. This is the one time you get to be selfish.”

“Mmm.” He sighed at the soothing movements on the fingers on his stinging skin. As pleasurable as the punishment was, what came after was always as good if not better. He loved being taken care of like this, and marvelled that he had never articulated this before. (Then again, he had never known his boyfriend to be capable of such things, to such a wonderful extent.) Perhaps Judas was right. Perhaps, at least within the confines of the bedroom, he _should_ be just a little selfish.

~  
  


“A little trouble, then. Good for conflict and a pinch of drama. And things end well, after all.” She trailed her fingers down his spine. “Are you sure you’re not making some of these up?”

“I can assure you that Jesus did get thoroughly spanked, and that he turned up for work the next day still enjoyably sore. James reported that he was sitting funny.” He grinned. “In fact, thanks to the fact that it was a weekend and they got pleasantly full of alcohol that evening, Jesus may have spilt a bit more than he intended. And James does have a talent for lapping up delightful little details.”

Carmen pursed her lips before untying his wrists. He stretched his mildly cramped shoulder muscles before draping his arms and head on her lap the way he knew she enjoyed. “I still say you’re fabricating at least a few of the juicy bits.”

“Oh, well. Who can say what the full story is without installing a spy cam in their bedroom, eh?”

“Indeed. One can only dream of witnessing such delights.” She stroked the back of his head before tightening her grip on his hair. “So. Now that you’re warmed up, how about we move on to something a little spicier?” 

His smile widened as he straightened, remaining on his knees. “Yes, ma’am.”


	3. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few things bring out Jesus' inner sub like a simple band of leather.

The collar was a language all its own: words of love and dominance burning slowly into his subconscious, whispered into warmed skin and parted lips. This most intimate poetry of surrender spoke of the unseen contract between the one who wielded it and the one who wore it. Once it began to tighten around his neck, the strap in the silver buckle finding its notch and secured in place, the world shrunk down to a microcosm in which everything fell perfectly into place, including himself. 

Jesus had expected more trepidation, if not outright fear, at an agreement that involved the complete forfeiting of his agency until the leather left his skin. But their bond had only grown through the first few flawed explorations that had seen them go from trying to guess at each other's comfort levels to discovering a level of trust that went deeper than their years of being together had ever unearthed. And the rules they had established ensured that any resulting discomfort was entirely intentional, and welcome.

The smell of leather was both calming and intoxicating. As Jesus bent his head so Judas could fasten the collar around his neck, he felt the stress of a long day filled with the sort of infuriating misfortunes that came in threes and fours melt away. Nothing mattered anymore once Judas took charge and let him know with every word and gesture that he was taken care of, that he was loved. 

"Too tight?" Judas asked, tugging on the strap. It was one of the last times Jesus would have a say in anything until it came off.

"Just a little." The tightness lifted a notch, the buckle was secured, and his surrender was complete.

A good part of what took place while the collar was on was not overtly sexual, but heady in its own way. Under its decree, he had to do what he was told (with limits set in place beforehand) — from what he could wear to what he should make for dinner, which was over two hours away. Plenty of time for his handmade herb-infused pitas, and cinnamon-dusted rolls for dessert if he had the ingredients. Judas did love to watch him knead and bake; this would be the first time he did it in bondage (and indeed, the simple circle of leather was even more effective in taming him than other restraints they had experimented with). He did not object to being allowed to wear no more than a t-shirt and briefs that hugged his pert bottom nicely — and that would be pulled down should he wilfully disobey an order. The punishment was anywhere from three to eight hits with a polished wooden paddle. Presumably, if he was disobedient enough, he would be sore by the end of the day.

Then again, the chances of that happening were slim. The calm subservience that sunk into his veins so naturally once he was collared and at his lover’s command was deeply enjoyable. Never had a simple thing suited both their temperaments so perfectly, more so after a difficult day. The kind of day that left Judas itching to regain a sense of control, and left Jesus longing to give it up. To be subject to the will of someone who would put him in his place without ever hurting him. The serenity that filled him had a tendency to flow through them both, allowing Judas to be controlling but not aggressive. Knowing that he need only say the word or stroke the nape of Jesus’ neck where the edge of the collar rested to trigger unconditional obedience. 

The undercurrent of every small action sent a thrill humming through them, such as Jesus asking permission for the littlest things in those moments when he craved complete submission. “May I have a drink of water?” he would ask with a lowered head, eyes looking up at his master through dark lashes: his voice timid on the surface, but weighted with something far less innocent beneath. Judas later followed up on this by reprimanding him an hour later when he failed to obtain permission for the same.

“Put that down and come here,” he said calmly, seated on the armchair he had bent Jesus over three days ago. Jesus knew what was coming, and laid down the water glass with the faintest quiver of anticipation before walking over and standing before his lover with lowered eyes.

“Did you forget something?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Starting to take your liberties for granted, are you?” Judas' eyes glinted with playful menace.

“I won’t do it again.”

“I’ll make sure you won’t.” He shivered at Judas’ words and obeyed the order to lower himself across the waiting lap, ready to accept the penalty for his misstep. He had to bite back a sharp cry of arousal when Judas pulled his underwear midway down his thighs and slid a few fingers into the exposed cleft, teasing and stroking lightly. Then the tenderness ceased as the paddle came down: once, twice, three times, four, five.

“What do you say?”

“T-thank you.”

“Hmm. And you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Yes.” Except, of course, there were plenty more such lessons that might earn him other delightful flavours of punishment. And that was even before they introduced the leash into their games. When he knelt before Judas and let the latter fasten the clasp to the small ring of his collar with a cool click of steel, the enjoyment he derived from being subjugated only intensified. 

Jesus remained demurely still even as his heart raced pleasurably when Judas wound the end of the leash around the leg of the coffee table. Judas told him to stay, returning some minutes later with snacks and coffee for both of them for the movie they were about to watch. Even without the leash, he was not allowed on the sofa while collared, however much he might crave cuddling: the rules were clear, and there was a thrill in the challenge of abiding by them, and in eating only what Judas fed him as he knelt by his side. He was, however, allowed to rest his head on Judas’ lap and savour the feeling of his lover’s fingers stroking his head, running through his hair. 

But such affections did not mean he was allowed indulgences. Once he thoughtlessly reached for a handful of the freshly made buttery popcorn on the coffee table without permission, wanting a bite while it was still warm. Judas caught him in the act and promptly bent him over his lap for a thorough spanking that made him almost unbearably hard. 

Jesus hoped his arousal would abate, but the novel sight of the leash and the tugging sensation whenever he moved too freely (the brush of leather against his skin was sensual, and he couldn’t stop touching it at first) — coupled with the fire in his lower regions that the spanking had stoked — left him barely able to concentrate on the last quarter of the film. And of course Judas insisted on seeing it to the end, though it was questionable if he was even paying full attention with Jesus rubbing kittenishly against his leg, wordlessly begging for relief. For he _was_ allowed to beg in ways that did not involve whining or making demands.

“Will you let me come after this?” he asked in the submissive, modulated tone with which he formed every appeal while the collar was on.

“If you behave.” The hand cradling his head slipped a thumb into his mouth, leisurely invading its wet warmth while stilling his tongue from making further requests.

Once the movie had ended and Judas deemed his behaviour deserving of reward, he was led firmly by the leash into the bedroom where he was told to lie down. Judas pulled down his briefs to reveal the swollen, leaking proof of his long-sustained arousal; feeling it freed from the restraints of the fabric made him gasp. His t-shirt was pushed up to reveal an expanse of taut stomach that Judas let the leash rest on, the length of leather snaking down from neck to hip to between his legs, where it brushed the sensitive flesh of his painfully hard cock and sent shivers up his spine.

As a prelude to his release, a length of thick silken cloth in a deep sensual green was wound around his head, obscuring his vision. Judas had been hesitant about reintroducing blindfolds to their play, the memory of a panic attack Jesus had had in reaction to being tied up and robbed of sight still fresh in their minds. This time, however, his hands were left free, and an agreement had been made that he was allowed to remove it if he ceased to enjoy its effect.

His heart skipped a beat as the room disappeared and reached out for Judas before he could stop himself. A hand grasped his firmly, anchoring him with an assurance of safety so he could properly savour the thrill of his other senses sharpening, the collar feeling pleasurably tight against his throat as his breaths quickened. Then he moaned uncontrollably as Judas’ tongue pressed a trail up the underside of his cock that was slick with pre-come by now. When it was enveloped almost wholly by Judas’ mouth, he could no longer hold back the torturous, mounting ecstasy. He tensed and gripped the sheets and cried out, barely able to ask permission to come before he was granted it. His climax came in waves that shook his entire frame as the world went senseless and formless for a prolonged second before he sank back into his flesh-and-bone body. 

The blindfold came off, the leash sliding off his stretch of naked skin, followed finally by the unbuckling of the collar. Judas fell contentedly beside him, having brought himself to release moments ago in tandem with Jesus' blissful upheaval resulting from his skilled mouth and tongue.

He always experienced a brief state of disorientation right after the leather left his throat. As if he had become unmoored from gravity, losing his sense of _being_. Then Judas’ arms were around him, holding him down and reminding him who he was. Everything felt vaguely different, and his fingers and arms were tingling, but nothing had changed.

He sighed in deep contentment and hooked his calf over Judas' own before folding himself into the space formed by his lover's leanly muscled arms and chest. The space where he always fit perfectly. Where he had always belonged, and always would.


	4. Training Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some blowjob action :D and a hint of Jesus' non-con fantasies

The air was thick with their combined breaths, hesitance mingling with dizzying arousal and — after every handful of seconds — a growing struggle for breath. Just before Jesus started choking, Judas pulled away and admonished him. “I told you to stop before you run out of wind.”

“I can...it’s fine…” Jesus drew a deep breath and moved back into position. “Let me continue.” 

With the collar on, he had to wait for a nod before resuming. He still couldn’t take Judas in more than halfway, especially as his cock began to swell and slide down the length of Jesus’ tongue. He shuddered in an attempt to control his gag reflex as it hit the entrance of his throat. After a few more thrusts, he started retching and had to pull away.

“You need to angle your neck correctly, or I’ll hit your throat too soon.”

“I messed up. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I just...I want to do this for you.”

Judas cradled his face. “I’m not forcing you to. I refuse to let you, if you don’t enjoy it.”

“But I do. Please, let me try again.” Jesus’ voice was that irresistible mix of pleading and demure: the one he only used when the leather encircled his neck and marked him as property, allowing him the surrender he craved more on some days than others. A part of Judas couldn’t help but wonder if he had discovered a sudden love for taking cock in his mouth (where he never had before, having tried and faltered a few times in the past) — or if the enjoyment he derived from utter submission was somehow entangled in a desire to please at the cost of his own discomfort.

Still, he had seemed keen enough at Judas’ casual mention that he wasn’t opposed to Jesus’ soft, generous lips sucking him off. Keen to be taught, and trained to please, as part of their roleplay. After all, he added, Judas had orally pleasured him countless times; it seemed only fair to return the favour.

“Do you honestly think I keep a tally of the times you failed to complete a blowjob, for fuck’s sake?” 

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“You’re the one being silly.”

He frowned and bit his lower lip. “I just think...I mean, there’s no harm in learning.” His tone shifted then, from petulant to suggestive. A subtle change that Judas would not have caught with less finely tuned senses. “Especially if you _made_ me do it.”

Judas would have been lying if he insisted his nether regions had not stirred and grown hard at the very suggestion. “You need to be careful what you wish for,” he growled. “Unless you want me to fuck you hard in the face till you cry.” Jesus shivered with both trepidation and pleasure at the hint of darker things they had yet to explore. _Some day,_ thought Judas. _When we’re both ready for it._ He felt ready as all heck, to be perfectly frank. But he needed to make sure Jesus was too.

“Did you have a bad day at work or something?” He knew by now that his boyfriend had a higher tendency to crave being collared and subjugated when he was stressed out about something.

Jesus sighed and fiddled with his hair. "Some stupid shipment delays and mixups, and issues with account balancing that I really don't want to go through in detail.” He was referring to the bookstore business his long-time friend James had inherited from his parents, and that he now co-owned with Jesus. “Then there was that flat tyre incident. And finding out all four tyres were worn and needed replacing...you know. One of those days."

"You don't need to tell me twice." Jesus had been in a real mood when Judas picked him up after the car catastrophe. "Isn't Peter helping you with the money side of things?"

"He's on vacation with Mary. I didn't want to bother him with the bookstore accounting. Turns out neither James nor I can look at spreadsheets for very long without losing our sanity."

"Hmm. I don't know that James has that much sanity to lose after living with Simon for years." 

He smiled. "You're right." He kept throwing sidelong glances at Judas for the next few minutes as they were watching TV until the latter finally asked: "So do you still want me to shove my cock in your mouth?"

That was, evidently, very much what he wanted. Or perhaps he was more into the thrill of being on his knees while Judas' hand stroked the back of his head, the collar snug around his neck. The sight of the same mouth he loved to kiss and tease and caress wrapped around his girth was an intoxicating sight. When those dark eyes with their dark fluttering lashes looked up at him upon command, full of helplessness and love, it was nearly enough to make him lose his mind.

It was simply unfortunate that Jesus had a very sensitive gag reflex. As he held on to Judas’ thighs for leverage, sliding slowly to set a gradual rhythm for himself, Judas briefly lost control as his lover's tongue brushed a sweet spot on the underside of his cock and gripped Jesus' hair without meaning to. Being suddenly locked in place with the swollen girth hitting his throat made Jesus seize up. He pulled away abruptly, choking and fighting to keep a surge of bile down. 

Then Judas was steadying him and rubbing his back as he wiped away the tears that had burned his eyes while he was on the verge of another retching fit. "Do you mind if...if I, you know, call a red?" he stammered breathlessly.

Judas didn't hear him at first. "What did you say?"

"Red light." Jesus bit his lip. "I need to stop."

"Good. I was going to make you stop anyway.”

“I just...need a break, really…”

“That’s enough.” A light but firm tug on the ring attached to the collar made him fall quiet, his demeanour going from flustered to calm and attentive.

“We’ve been through this before, haven’t we?” Judas tried to keep the vexation from his voice. “You signal me when you stop enjoying what we’re doing.”

“But I _was_ enjoying it.”

“You enjoy being choked while trying to fit a cock down your throat?” Judas tilted his chin. “Be honest if you do. I’m hardly going to judge.”

“Not always. I-I don’t know. I enjoy some parts of it. Of the whole...experience.”

“And if I shoved myself back in right now, you wouldn’t object?”

When Jesus took too long to answer, Judas sighed and bent to unbuckle the collar, sliding it from his throat. Jesus blinked in that slightly disoriented way he always did when the leather binding him to subservience was lifted. “Come on.” Judas guided him to the sofa and allowed him time to adjust, keeping an arm around him until he slowly stretched out and things were back to normal.

“I know you’re going to say I never learn,” Jesus said quietly. “But I really do want to make you happy. I want to give you what you give me so much of. Not because I owe you anything. But because I want you to feel that way. To have something that amazing.”

“I get it. But all that’s secondary. I think it’s amazing just being with you and getting to fuck you.” Judas kissed his forehead; he enjoyed the uncommonly tender feelings that overwhelmed him during such moments. It made him almost able to forget all the abrasive words he had hurled during the most vicious of their arguments. (They had not had one in what felt like ages.) “You need to keep pushing back when you’ve had enough. Remember what we agreed upon. You needing to be a bit more selfish, for starters.”

“I won’t stop trying. I promise.” Jesus reached for his lips to steal a kiss. “And I appreciate you being patient with me.”

“Mmm. I don’t feel all that patient, to be honest. And I think you might need some punishing to let the reminders sink in.”

Jesus snuggled deeper into his side. “What sort of punishment?”

“Whatever sort will have to wait till tomorrow at the soonest.” Judas slid a hand beneath his clothes to touch him in all the places that would most effectively wreck him. “But you’re free to table ideas till then.”

From the small smile teasing Jesus’ face, Judas could tell he already had a few.


	5. Captive Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ropes and edging and Judas being soft for his bf

Once he got used to Simon’s constant and occasionally obnoxious commentary, Judas had to admit that mastering the intricacy of ropework was oddly therapeutic. There was some satisfaction to be derived from the aesthetically pleasing formation of knots and twists as he looped the nylon rope according to instructions. And his friend, so instrumental in catalysing their explorations of kink, had been most generous with his knowledge gained from years of experience in sex work catering to clientele whose tastes ran to the adventurous.

Today they were progressing from wrist ties to legs; Simon was instructing him on how to immobilize the thighs and calves by locking them in place. Beside him, Jesus was giving the method a try on James’ other leg. He had sat in for lessons before, but today was his first time getting a little more hands-on in an effort to fully appreciate the efforts his boyfriend put in for both their enjoyment.

Simon had suggested more than once (tongue firmly in cheek, being well aware of his inhibitions) that he allow Judas to practice on him — “the dimensions of my limbs and James’ are different from yours,” was his transparently flimsy excuse. He obviously just wanted to see how long it took for Jesus to start getting red or visibly aroused. Judas tying him up was, after all, an incredibly intimate act. And no matter how close their friendship was, there were simply some things he refused to entertain doing in the company of anyone but his lover’s.

“Under and around. You got the order wrong,” James told him as his fingers fumbled around his friend’s exposed thigh. 

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No worries, man. This one's a little trickier than usual."

James shifted a little, his boxers revealing a sliver of bare backside and prompting Jesus to remark that if they slid up any further, he’d reveal more than he wanted to. Judas snorted in response as he tightened a knot on his rope formation. “You need to tell somebody who actually gives more fucks than James.”

“James’ level of fucks _is_ generally in the negative zone,” Simon added, as if his own were any different.

“It’s just that I’m bad enough without any distractions.” Jesus groaned as he undid a loop for the third time, finally getting it right after Simon guided him through it inch by inch.

“I’m terrible at this,” he admitted with a half-defeated grin.

“Good thing you’re on the receiving end,” Simon replied cheerfully. “You’re a natural-born bunny.”

“Bunny?”

“A rope bunny. Someone who enjoys getting tied up. Judas is a rigger — the person who does the tying.” Simon’s smile widened. “Looks like you were destined to be together.”

Judas stole a look at Jesus as he secured the final knot, and felt a rush of pleasure at the way the latter was faintly blushing and biting back a smile. He knew his boyfriend was impatient as he was to put their newfound knowledge to use. They barely made it into the car before he found his hands sliding under Jesus’ t-shirt, their mouths hungry for each other. He grew hard at the first moan to spill from his beloved’s lips and squeezed Jesus’ thigh in a promise of what was to come.

“We’d better grab a good meal before we get back,” he said. “Don’t bother cooking today. I don’t want you wasting your energy.”

Several hours later, he had Jesus naked and spread out, looking as ravishing as he always did when wearing nothing but ropes. While Jesus’ dramatic shift into compliance when they employed the use of a collar was always enjoyable, Judas also loved the subtler process that unfurled in tandem with the winding of silken nylon around his limbs. He would gradually become quiet and pliant, occasionally looking up from lowered lashes with a doe-eyed submission that spoke of wordless, unconditional trust.

Judas loved knowing that he alone held the key to such trust. Having such a level of control over someone he loved with every fibre of his being — and the resulting subservience that unfolded like a reward for patience and love — was beyond gratifying. He ran a thumb over those wide, soft, parted lips and saw in the dark eyes above an exquisite surrender without a trace of fear. It was almost like falling in love anew.

He finished wrapping both wrists in rope with a length trailing free to be fastened to each bedpost. "Lie down, on your back," he told Jesus, who rose off his knees and obeyed.

The first few times he had been in a similar position, Jesus had been full of trepidation, to the point where Judas could feel his every sinew thrum with tense anticipation. The excitement he felt now was subtly yet remarkably different: there was a more obvious pleasure and calm radiating from beneath the taut surface, with none of the anxiety that had pervaded their first proper foray into such things. Jesus whimpered with delight as his legs were forced wide apart by the ropework they had learnt earlier. He was utterly helpless now, at the mercy of his rigger. And his intense enjoyment was evident in the racing of his pulse and the way he stared adoringly at the one who had reduced him to this state.

With well-slicked fingers Judas started prodding and pushing into him until he was loosened just enough to make way for the plug they had recently acquired. It was shaped from a see-through substance, made to look like glass. Jesus gasped at the newness of the cool unyielding sensation that his body had to shift and adapt to while sending a thrill of pleasure up his spine and into his stiffening sex. He made a tremulous sound when the widest part of the plug slid into him.

“Does that hurt?”

“No.” Jesus arched and undulated his hips in an effort to get used to the strange yet oddly enjoyable hardness. “”It just feels like…a lot.”

“Let me know if you want it out.” Knowing how Jesus tended to push himself to the very edge of his own thresholds without complaint (though he was becoming more vocal these days), Judas’ tone made clear that it was an order. He waited for a nod of acknowledgment before going to work between the spread-out legs, teasing out the first strains of vocal arousal and the panting and pleading that followed soon after.

Torture was the name of today’s game; Judas kept his lover on the edge for nearly an hour, pushing him to the brink of climax over and over before withdrawing his hands and his tongue. The plug was used to good effect, Judas’ fingers pushing at it gently but firmly so the movement of that hard, glass-like phallic head made Jesus writhe and shiver in his restraints. The bedposts began to creak from the frequency of his tugging as his words toppled into incoherence and then into outright sobs as ecstasy and agony melded into a twisted beast that pervaded his every sinew and vein and turned him into a mindless, begging mess.

At one point Judas left to grab a drink and came back with a glass of vodka-laced juice, sipping leisurely as he lay beside his tormented partner, every now and then reaching out to stroke and fondle Jesus in all his sensitive places. They both derived a good amount of thrills from Judas pretending to ignore Jesus’ abject need until he saw fit to acknowledge it, as if his beloved was a mere object whose wants and will were of little consequence.

He finally decided to grant Jesus some modicum of mercy, sliding over the quivering body and stroking the side of the heated face. “Ready for me now?”

“Please." Jesus' voice was a whisper, rough with desperation. He barely noticed when the plug was pulled out until its presence was replaced by Judas sliding into him, sending a fresh surge of lust through him just when he thought he had reached his limit. Judas wrapped a hand around his cock, each light stroke mocking him for its swollen state, its every inch slick with pre-come that had already left its gleaming trails on his belly and upper thighs. He was not allowed release until after Judas had spilt into him. When mercy finally came, he climaxed with a shudder that shook and strained him to his limits. Then he was gasping for air before sinking into the mattress in boneless relief, drained of all strength.

Judas knew he must be hurting from being pulled taut for so long. It was a good thing he was becoming better and quicker at undoing his own intricate ropework. Jesus let loose a whimper when his leg was freed and immediately cramped up. "Here. Let me." Judas kneaded the stiff stretch of muscle, mindful of the small sounds of pain that indicated where it hurt most, until the hardness loosened beneath his fingers and Jesus slumped into his chest with relief. 

"Will you do my arms?" he asked softly.

In response, Judas kissed him on the forehead and went to work rubbing the sore shoulders and limbs until his beloved was humming in pleasure, pliant and soft and sighing. He nearly wanted to pin Jesus down and fuck him thoroughly all over again.

But he knew what Jesus really wanted after an intense session was to be thoroughly taken care of, to curl up on Judas' lap and have his hair stroked or brushed and be spoiled with all the affection he could demand. He remained silent and acquiescent as a rag doll when Judas cleaned him up with a damp cloth, accepting the small glass of juice pushed onto him and obediently downing it all. Judas followed up with dressing him in one of the oversized t-shirts he liked to sleep in and kissed him all over — on the neck, shoulder, cheeks, mouth — until he was full to the brim with joy and contentment, each tender gesture resealing and renewing their closeness.

The first time such an exchange had happened, Judas had surprised himself and his hitherto unearthed capacity for such deep and prolonged tenderness. The small, secretive smile tugging at Jesus' mouth as he fell asleep cradled in his lover's arms indicated, as it had before, that he cherished being the only witness to this side of Judas. After all these years, he had found a part of himself that had been lost and buried by a continuous effort to reject his own needs and weaknesses as a neglected child. A shrivelled dried-up thing blossoming anew, coaxed forth by partner who needed both firmness and tenderness from him.

Judas let his fingers stray into the soft dark hair nestled against his chest and felt the same contented love emanating from each peaceful breath fill him to overflowing. In moments like these, the quiet stretched on into a vision of heaven: an eternity cradled in the space where their gaps met perfectly in the middle. In the ropes that bound them closer, they kept finding new facets to each other, and with each tug and twist they became ever more intertwined.


	6. The Wicked and Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rape fantasies come true

Two nights ago, Jesus had risen from a dream coloured by rape and violence and the suffocating thrill of drowning in Judas’ hands pinning him down, Judas’ scent pervading his senses. He had been near feverish with arousal upon waking, trying to still his racing heart and the heaving of his chest as he lay beside his slumbering boyfriend in the dark. 

He let his eyes wander over the taut curves of the well-toned back and shoulders (Judas was in the habit of sleeping topless during nights as warm as this one), and tried to envision the same man assaulting him unexpectedly, with cold brutality in place of heated passion. Tying him up while ignoring his panicked cries before forcing a cock into his mouth, or stripping him down and kicking his legs apart and…

Jesus bit back a gasp at the rush of warmth to his lower regions. He had entertained such fleeting thoughts before, although never to this extent. The new depths of his growing need was not something he knew how to deal with. Liberating as it was to discover new sides to their lovemaking and their own hitherto hidden longings, the intensity of such hidden desires sometimes frightened him. (His first instinct, amusingly enough, had been to text Simon about it. And why not, when the man had been responsible for initiating them into such experimentations?) He shifted until he was close enough to cling to Judas, wishing he could convey his transgressive fantasies through the heat and closeness of his body alone. After what seemed like hours, he slid back into sleep. But the dreams were not done with him yet.

Snatches of sensations, not quite as vivid as the previous visitations — but every bit as clear in their intent — pulled him back into their clutches and sent invisible hands crawling all over his skin. Hands familiar in their demanding roughness. One of them clamped itself over his face and made him struggle for breath before releasing him. Another crept down to touch him between his thighs and mock him cruelly for being as hard as he was. Then Judas’ mouth was on his, kissing him softly, blurring the line between the land of dreaming and the waking life in which such fantasies could only be kept at bay for so long.

PM between Jesus and Simon

_TUESDAY_

_1:25PM_

**_Jesus:_ ** _I need to ask you something._

**_Jesus:_ ** _And please don’t tell anyone else about this_

**_Simon:_ ** _Total confidentiality. Got it. Fire away_

**_Jesus:_ ** _Have you ever fantasized about being raped?_

_[This message was deleted]_

**_Simon:_ ** _Too late. I saw that_

**_Jesus:_ ** _Shit_

**_Simon:_ ** _Don’t worry about it. It’s normal. Well, normal being relative._

**_Jesus:_ ** _So, not that normal?_

**_Simon:_ ** _Listen, people’s brains are a bag of cats when it comes to sex. No one needs to be shamed for whatever they dream about doing. Or having done to them._

**_Jesus:_ ** _Right. Of course._

**_Jesus:_ ** _So how do I, you know_

_1:31PM_

**_Simon:_ ** _If you were taking that long just to ask “How do I tell my boyfriend I want him to pretend-rape me” I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is Tell Him._

**_Jesus:_ ** _Seriously??_

**_Simon:_ ** _Well, it’s that or hope he’ll read your mind._

**_Simon:_ ** _Or you can write him a poem, if you want to be real classy about it._

**_Jesus:_ ** _Amusing as that sounds, I think I’ll pass._

_2:00PM_

**_Jesus:_ ** _I’ve thought it over. There are no options._

**_Simon:_ ** _You sure?_

**_Jesus:_ ** _It’s not that important, honestly. I mean it’s not exactly life or death. Forget I mentioned it._

_2:05 PM_

**_Simon:_ ** _Alright, there’s a fourth option. I just need your OK to make it happen._

~

The reaction Simon got was more or less what he had expected after such a revelation. “There’s a reason I had alcohol ready,” he said with a shrug. “If you want, there’s stronger stuff than beer in the cabinet.”

Judas stared long and hard at him over a can of pilsner. Luckily, Simon was more or less impervious to stares and merely kept talking as if Judas’ eyes were not boring holes into his face. “You know, it’s actually fairly normal. To be aroused by sex with a side of violence. Your body doesn’t always know the difference between one adrenaline rush and another.”

Judas accepted that the logic made sense. He just didn’t know if he was ready for this information in regards to Jesus and the rape fantasies he had evidently been keeping a secret. He had guessed Simon had some interesting news to relay when he had invited Judas to his place for a beer (or three) after work. But he would never have guessed at the nature of said news. No wonder Jesus had been acting odd this morning: a mix of affectionate and nervous, a little apologetic even, knowing he needed his friend to convey to his partner what he himself had no words for.

“The good thing about play-acting as a couple is the controlled environment,” Simon continued. “And doing it with someone you trust. It’s acting out fantasies in a safe space, so to speak.“

“Right.” He emptied the can and reached for another. “You know, neither of us are actually any good at acting. I hope he doesn’t expect...you know, realistic dialogue or anything.” He found himself snorting in absurd amusement. Simon grinned and clapped his shoulder. “That’s the spirit. You gotta go into these things with a sense of humour.”

“If I didn’t have _some_ sense of humour, I’d have walked back out when you told me what you just did.” He shook his head. “Although, now I think about it, I’m not all that surprised Jesus needed a go-between for this.”

It was Simon’s turn to snort. “Yeah. Can you imagine him torturing himself trying to tell you?” Simon affected a hesitant manner, fumbling with his collar and earlobe. “ ‘Uhm, so...I was wondering if you could, you know, slap me around a bit and then...you know, force yourself on me?’ ” Judas kicked his shin in light-hearted rebuke, although he had to admit the impression was eerily on point. 

“I assume he’s had no trouble asking for other stuff so far,” Simon said.

“Not much. Although I can tell when he’s on the verge of a request. Usually I let him fiddle with his hair and bracelets and whatever’s in the vicinity for about ten minutes. At that point all he’ll need is a nudge, and out it comes.”

“Hmm. What was the last thing he asked you to do?” Simon smiled saucily. “Was it spanking again? Or something new, like butt plugs?”

Judas downed a swig of chilled beer. “As if I’d tell you.”

“Oh. So _that’s_ the appreciation I get for being the tireless messenger enhancing your sex life.”

“You want appreciation, I’ll buy the next round of beer. You’re just a goddamn voyeur, admit it.”

“Can you blame me? Jesus being a prude on the outside and a secretly kinky bastard on the inside is too fun to resist.”

“Did he seriously put you up to this?”

“Actually, I volunteered.” Simon cracked open this third can. “He was going to just drop the whole thing. But who am I to let a good rape fantasy get flushed down the toilet? So here we are.” He took a swig before continuing. “Anyway, ground rules. If you’re gonna go ahead with this fun little adventure, there are a few things you both need to know.”

~

PM between Judas and Jesus

_FRIDAY_

_4:30PM_

**_Judas:_ ** _So we’re going ahead with this?_

**_Jesus:_ ** _If you’re still fine with it._

**_Judas:_ ** _I’ll take that as a yes_

Jesus had expected at least a hint of trepidation once he confirmed his assent for what was about to take place later that evening. Instead he felt a pleasant fluttering in his stomach all through the excruciatingly slow two or so hours before he could get off work. It was a lot like falling in love all over again. He hoped Judas was feeling the same, instead of being pressured to perform; to play the role that required him to carry out what Jesus merely had to be a willing recipient of. 

“You OK?” James asked, raising an eyebrow at his noticeably distracted demeanour. He merely nodded, hoping Simon had not let slip anything to his roommate. To his relief, James seemed genuinely in the dark regarding the reason for his scattered behaviour, running after him with a bemused look while holding out the backpack Jesus had left behind in his hurry to leave. “Thanks,” he said, smiling gratefully as James handed him his bag.

“No prob. You take care, alright?”

He made it home on autopilot, noticing almost nothing of the world around him until he parked the car and emerged with a racing heart, even as his actions indicated nothing out of the ordinary. He made it past the gate without incident, and was pushing open the door when he heard a rustle behind him. Then an arm was thrown around him, locking his arms in place like an iron band. A hand clamped over his mouth cut off his cry. He caught a whiff of the familiar scent and it made his knees weak.

“Be quiet. Get inside,” came the gruff order. Dizzy with the rate at which his heart was pounding, he let himself be dragged into the house and flung onto the sofa. “Don’t fucking move,” he was told as a knee shoved into his back pinned him down.

“Don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. “I’ll do as you say.”

“Goddamn right you will.” His scarf was being pulled roughly from his neck; he felt the fabric winding around his wrists to secure them behind his back. Judas was a master of knots by now, the movements immobilising him deftly with not a whit of fumbling. When he was flipped onto his back, he saw that the figure standing over him was masked and hooded, only the gleam of his beloved’s eyes visible amid the shadow of black. But there was no love in those eyes just now: only cold, brutal intent. Jesus shivered as his t-shirt was pushed up to reveal an expanse of bare torso. A hand brushed his nipple, making him tingle all over. 

“Please. Don’t —” he started to beg. For that, he received a slap across the face that got him almost painfully aroused. His jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down past his hips; fingers teased at the edge of his briefs. Then Judas slid off him and disappeared from his line of sight. 

“Where are you...what are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, knowing perfectly well what was coming next. “Please, just tell me what you want…”

“You talk too much for your own good.” 

“No. No, please —” A length of fabric was wedged between his teeth, winding thrice around his head until he was effectively silenced, his stammering pleas reduced to small stifled mewls as the gag was knotted in place. Then the hem of his t-shirt was pushed up further to expose more of him, the wandering hands that would take what they wanted without mercy sliding beneath his underwear to manhandle him thoroughly. He squirmed and struggled as if it was a stranger touching him. The very thought was horrifying, and he went rigid with fear for a second or two as his imagination ran wild. But he could smell and feel the person he knew was there beneath the acting. The person he trusted deeply enough to surrender to time and time again. The assurance of this knowledge shifted fear into something close to it yet different: a hot blossoming thrill that was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Then he was being dragged from the sofa and thrown across the coffee table, just hard enough to emphasize his helplessness. He was allowed to writhe about in vain for a bit before his jeans were removed completely and his briefs pulled down enough to expose his behind. A hard smack landed on the bare flesh, making him gasp. He felt a hard cock press against his opening, grinding against him hard enough to slam his hipbones painfully against the table edge. For the briefest moment he panicked, thinking Judas might split him open without any preparation.

_Don’t be ridiculous. He would never actually hurt you._

His briefs were pulled back up; he noted how tight the fabric felt against his aroused, swollen sex. A hand brushed his fingers in an oddly soft gesture, and Jesus knew then that it was a move to remind him of the non-verbal signals they had agreed upon. (He was safe. He always had been.) The traces of doubt disappeared as he twitched his first two fingers to indicate a green light.

Then a length of nylon rope was being wound around his calves, binding his legs together, the smooth familiar texture almost sensual after the roughness he had been subject to. Except of course, the rough treatment was far from over. His face was pushed against the hard wood of the table top. “Stay there. Don’t move unless I tell you otherwise.” 

Before he left, Judas stroked the inside of his thigh in a startlingly intimate gesture that would have been terrifying were it from an actual intruder. A shiver ran up and down his spine as he obeyed the order to stay put. In a way, it was simply a heightened version of their games of dominance and submission. Albeit one that made his blood rush and his heart pound like never before. He shifted to find a more stable position — which proved something of a challenge, with his knees locked together from his bound calves — and felt the living room sway. The relentless thrill mingled with not-quite-fear was making him dizzy, exacerbated by the gag making it harder to draw breath. He was getting incredibly uncomfortable from the restraints tugging at his tense muscles. He had never felt so alive.

Just as cramps were starting to creep up his limbs, Judas lifted him off the table and dragged him into an upright position. A hand stroked his chin in a mockery of tenderness. “You look pretty when silenced like that,” the low voice growled. “But I think it’s time to put your mouth to use, don’t you?”

The gag was removed and the same cloth wound around his eyes instead. Having his vision obscured always sent a fear-tinged thrill through him. In this case, it perfectly matched the situation he was in. He protested and pled against the blindfold, knowing he would be met with a stinging slap for it. One that reduced his begging to a soft wordless whimper.

A rigid cock pressed against the side of his face as a hand slid to the back of his head, cradling almost gently at first before the fingers tightened around a fistful of his hair. Another hand gripped his jaw painfully and forced his lips open, allowing him to emit a last formless plea before the swollen length pushed into his mouth, filling him with a headily familiar taste. Jesus had never been able to take more than half his boyfriend’s cock without being choked by his over-sensitive gag reflex. The last time he tried had been somewhat less uncomfortable; no doubt he would improve with time.

But there was no room for such easing in here. After the first few thrusts, the pace picked up and soon the wave of nausea he had anticipated announced its presence, followed by the urge to throw up. Judas briefly withdrew to allow him the small mercy of catching his breath — and to issue a safe word if he wanted to. When he merely sobbed and shuddered, the cock was shoved back in, harder than ever and hitting his throat every so often, making his entire frame quiver as he fought against a fit of retching.

A long string of ruthless thrusts was followed by another breather. This time only the hand gripping his hair kept him upright; he was shaking almost top to toe now, unable to stay on his knees for much longer. He knew he should perhaps signal an orange. But he wanted to ride this thrilling, exhausting wave to the very end. To cut it short now would be a letdown, a premature crash without the satisfaction.

And, discomfort aside, being degraded in such a manner was almost frighteningly enjoyable. He could not explain the impulses that allowed the man he loved to push him to the brink of unconsciousness before coming in his mouth, down his throat, and force him to swallow as much as he could without throwing up violently. It was the first time he had successfully sucked anyone off. Overwhelmed with emotions and sensations he had no words for, he started sobbing openly, looking every bit the defiled virgin, as convincing in his role as Judas was in his.

He wasn’t sure when the ropes left his body or how he found himself writhing and arching and coming with his assailant’s hand around his cock. Then the blindfold was lifted and Judas’ arms were around him. Even after the retching and coughing ceased, he continued shivering violently as if he had actually been assaulted and raped. As if some part of his body had failed to register that it was all a game, and one that had plunged him into hitherto unknown depths of pleasure. 

“Hey. You OK?” Judas was with him: not the brute he had been playing, but the Judas who loved him and took good care of him, who was cradling his face in fierce concern. “Come back to me.” His beloved’s visage was no longer obscured, and the sight filled him with a strange relief. Judas was kissing his lips, his forehead, stroking his hair. “It’s over. Come back to me.”

“You were amazing,” he said fervently as the shivering abated. His face was flushed and damp with tears.

“I was sure for a moment that’d I’d pushed you too far. I was just waiting for a signal.”

Braced against the steady warmth of Judas’ chest, he settled into a calmer state as his surroundings came back into focus. “Was it good for you too?” he asked with a shaky smile.

Judas grinned. “More than good.” The grin faltered a little as he beheld his lover’s wrecked state. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you into bed.”

They made it nearly to the door of the room before Jesus collapsed as all the built-up tension and adrenaline left his body in a rush. Judas narrowly caught him before he hit the floor. The world was tilting and spinning like a theme park ride as he briefly lost consciousness, aware only of being lifted and held in the safety of strong arms in which he would have been content to remain forever.

He awoke to the warmth of a blanket around his shoulders. But without anyone beside him, he felt oddly bereft, empty and aching. “Judas?” When his whisper met with silence, he found himself alert and anxious. “Judas??” he called out.

“I’m here.” Judas slid in under the covers and pulled him close as he gratefully buried himself in the reassuring embrace. He realised he was clad in clean underwear and one of Judas’ oversized t-shirts he liked to wear to sleep, the stains of his release cleaned from his upper thighs. He was suddenly overcome with tenderness and the bliss of being loved and cared for, his heart filled to bursting and causing a bout of fresh tears that roused Judas’ concern anew.

“What is it?? What’s wrong?” When Jesus shook his head, Judas pressed on: “You need to tell me if I did something you didn’t like…”

“It’s not about that. It’s...just…” He clung on tightly, inhaling deeply as if he could absorb the scent and breath and very essence of the man he cherished with every fibre of his being. “I love you,” he said at last. And then he spoke what words alone could not with his lips, soft and searching, pressed against the other’s. Judas responded by cradling his neck and deepening the kiss, his hands wandering over Jesus’ body: not roughly this time but with almost reverent tenderness, as if tasting and touching him for the first time. They stayed in the inviolable sanctuary of each other’s arms until the faint ache in their bellies reminded them that they had not yet had dinner.

“I’m hungry,” Jesus murmured against Judas’ shoulder.

“Are you capable of walking to the kitchen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because I’m not carrying you there.”

In response, Jesus whined endearingly into the pillow. Judas tugged on a lock of his hair. “You’re turning into a spoilt little brat, you know.”

“Only because you take such good care of me.”

“And you’d better appreciate it.” He pulled the blanket off to land a smack on Jesus’ thigh, eliciting a sound of mock outrage and a half-hearted wrestling back of the quilt. “Stay here, I’ll make you a sandwich or something.”

“Mmm. You’re the best.”

“The things I do for love,” Judas replied in exaggerated complaint. But he was smiling as he left the bedroom. For all that Jesus craved surrender and submission, he was the one who had Judas wrapped around his fingers. And Judas knew there was no other place he would rather be.


	7. Shameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being kinky in public comes with its own thrills and perils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~last chapter so far, but there's always the possibility I might add more if a plausible scenario comes to mind and I have the energy to write it :D no promises

Jesus traced the outline of a paper napkin with his fingers, marvelling at the tiny details that were thrown into sharp focus even as the larger world faded into a near-soundless blur. It was hard to believe how extraordinary this perfectly ordinary day had become with the simple addition of the unassuming leather choker around his neck. The one that peeked out from beneath his shirt collar like a secret code, an invitation meant for one alone.

The smell of something buttery and spice-infused wafted through the air of the small al fresco restaurant, tempting him to sample it. But of course, he would eat only what his partner said he could. When Judas plucked the menu from his hand before he could browse it, a playful gleam in his eye, Jesus felt a small tingle of pleasure up his spine. The waitress who came for their order raised an eyebrow when she directed her question at him and found he was spoken for, but didn’t pursue the matter once Jesus nodded demurely. He knew Judas wouldn’t get him anything he didn’t like. 

Besides, as good as the food was, it was only the cherry on the cake as far as this oddly thrilling adventure went. This leisurely Saturday afternoon marked the first time he was out in public wearing the collar that kept him firmly in submissive mode. And it had begun, amusingly enough, with an increasingly dire need for new shirts after realising he had maybe two left that were not verging on threadbare or so extensively repaired as to be held together by mended seams.

The idea of carrying out their roleplay games outside the walls of the house had been tabled before — and Jesus had immediately ruled it out, only to reconsider a week later for reasons he could not name. A discussion of what they would and wouldn’t do (conducted in playful heated whispers while in bed that led to urgent, satisfying copulation) had turned a routine shopping trip into a series of frisson-laden exchanges invisible to all but themselves. Judas spooning their sorbet dessert into his mouth looked like little more than a cheesy indulgence between lovestruck couples, but was in fact part of the terms stating that Jesus was not to feed himself except with permission.

Prior to dessert, Judas had seen fit to torment him to test the limits of his obedience. (And each session of play, as they had both delighted in finding out, revealed previously unexplored edges to those limits.) After the plates had been cleared, Judas had leaned in to instruct him to go to the bathroom and touch himself. "Make sure you're nice and hard before you come out. Or you'll be thoroughly punished when we get home later."

Jesus had quivered with anticipation as he stood and made his way to the washroom. His heart was pounding as he slipped into a stall and undid his pants, only to wonder how much he could do when his arousal was already pushing firmly against his briefs. He leaned against the cool tiled wall and tried to slow the rush of his pulse while thinking of distinctly non-arousing things, before realising the futility of his efforts: he was deliciously incapable of thinking at all, except of how hard Judas was making him by denying him what he now badly needed. 

It took but four or five strokes to make him painfully rigid to the point of having to bite back whimpers of need lest someone in the adjoining stalls heard him. He was a distracted, stammering mess when he stumbled back to the table where Judas was taking a leisurely drag from a cigarette as if he was not in the midst of sexually tormenting his lover. The infuriatingly nonchalant air affected by Judas did nothing for Jesus’ maddening arousal that caused him to fall weak-kneed into his seat and part his legs for inspection, as he knew was expected of him. Judas slid a hand down his jeans to ensure he was in a satisfactory state: hard and leaking, almost but not quite necessitating a change of underwear. (He did have a spare set in his bag, just in case.)

He spilt a low, needy moan at the touch, but did not beg; he was not allowed to ask for sexual pleasure or release during the length of their outing. He was to take only what Judas gave him. Each little reminder of this caused a rush of enjoyment that made him ultra-sensitive to perfectly innocuous sensations: the brush of fabric against his skin, of Judas’ fingers on his forearm, Judas’ firm hand on his back or neck as a subtle method of dictating his movements. He was glad for that guiding hand as they strolled side by side in the manner of a fairly ordinary, affectionate couple — for he would likely have wandered astray otherwise, afloat on the intense high of his public yet unseen subjugation.

His arousal had simmered down to a reasonable level by the time they entered the store where he regularly bought most of his clothing. The difference from previous visits was that he had little to no say in the items of purchase. He had already been enjoyably robbed of agency in choosing what to wear out before they had left the house: the cropped top he had on beneath his unassuming blue cotton shirt revealed a sliver of skin that he was entirely unused to showing outside of home. Every so often, Judas’ hand would slide beneath the shirt hem to stroke or lightly pinch the narrow stretch of exposed midriff, right in full view of anyone who might be passing by. It pushed Jesus’ sense of propriety just far enough to thrill him without crossing into embarrassment.

(He was, of course, allowed the use of their customary safewords if his level of discomfort crossed the line. But until then, he delighted in making a show of violated modesty, his seeming inability to refuse enhancing the illusion that he was his partner’s property — to be enjoyed and used at whim.)

“I don’t know if this colour suits me,” he demurred at the dark teal garment Judas was holding against him for measurement.

“Try it on and we’ll see,” was the reply. He obeyed and incorporated the shirt into the small pile of garments he brought into the changing room area. In the small, thrillingly restrictive space of the cubicle, the barest touch became electric. As Judas slid off his clothing while nipping at his shoulders, he felt countless minute shivers raising the fine hairs on his forearms and neck. The mere feel of Judas buttoning him into a shirt was enough to make him weak.

“This is much too tight,” Jesus murmured, adjusting the jeans he was trying on.

“Makes your ass look great, though,” Judas replied, groping him thoroughly while grinding their hips together.

“Mmmh...please. I don’t know if I can…”

“Can what?”

“Control myself.” Jesus blushed as he grew unbearably hard all over again. “Is there anyone next door?”

“So what if there is?” Judas’ hands were sliding the jeans down his upper thighs, palming at his cock. He gasped as the skilled hand worked him towards the edge of climax and bit back a whine when it pulled away.

“Take these off.” Once he had shed the too-tight jeans, Judas told him to turn around so his back was pressed against the former’s chest. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” He was almost giddily aroused at the sight of them engaging in such an act so far from the privacy of their own walls; shocked at his transgression, and the sight of himself coming apart beneath his lover’s hands. The lights of the changing room were softer than he remembered: yellow-white radiance falling on flashes of exposed skin, casting their indecency in a divine halo. He was so wrapped up in the intensely heightened ecstacy of their coupling — the hardness of Judas’ sex thrusting against his opening, needing no penetration to come in a delicious mess down the back of his inner thighs — that he forgot to beg permission until after he had spilt his own release.

“Someone is asking to be properly punished later,” Judas commented with a firm tug on the collar as he cleaned off the traces of their covert lovemaking. Jesus shuddered in anticipation. Was it not for the joy he gained from complete obedience, he would almost certainly court penance more often. For there had never been a punishment both of them did not deeply enjoy.

They were enveloped in a warm haze of pleasure as they made their way to their next stop where Jesus was made to line up and get their coffee. Judas relished drinking in the sight of his lover from a short distance away. Jesus had forgotten his shirt after emerging from the changing room, warm from the heat of their shenanigans, and would have left it behind if Judas had not retrieved it as they were leaving the cubicle. If he was conscious of missing the extra layer now, it felt like a fair trade for the tingling sensation of his lover's eyes travelling all over his body. Being divested of it left his collar clearly visible as well as the narrow band of exposed skin peeking from beneath the cropped t-shirt, and the curve of his behind in the snugly fitting pants. The leather wristbands adorning his arms only enhanced the overall effect. He looked, in short, quite ravishable...to all save a few. 

The haughty, long-faced man behind Jesus kept shooting looks of disapproval at him, though he remained unaware of this for a good while. He vaguely registered the disgruntled muttering that he thought was aimed at someone or something else. It was only when the barista asked for his order and his brain went blank for a few seconds — making him fumble to recall if Judas had wanted one or two espresso shots — that the man snorted at this inconvenience. "Goddamn faggot," he muttered loudly.

Jesus turned around, startled at the slur and the loathing glare clearly aiming it at him. "What did you say…?" He meant to sound more assertive, but he was so deep in submissive mode that the unexpected confrontation made him freeze.

"It's bad enough to hold up a queue without looking like a shameless slut," the man continued.

An awful heat crept up Jesus' neck and face as he felt suddenly naked and exposed. His eyes fell to the floor where he stood frozen until Judas materialised by his side. "What the hell did you say to him?" he growled at the man.

"Only what people like him need to hear more often," came the vehement reply.

"What kind of people, exactly?" Judas' voice softened to a deadly pitch.

The barista tried to intervene as the five or so customers watched wide-eyed. But the antagonistic stranger stood his ground, clearly thinking himself some staunch defender of family values. "The kind of perverts who think it's acceptable to flaunt themselves in decent spaces. You think I don't know what this means?"

A hand reached for the collar, and Jesus gasped as the intrusive fingers pulled at the strap, hard enough to jerk him forward. That was all it took for Judas to lose it and punch the guy right in the face. "Don't you fucking touch him!"

A horrified sort of delight ran through the small crowd that had suddenly gathered at the sounds of an altercation. Judas managed to get in another punch before security personnel turned up and Jesus tugged at him, wordlessly pleading for him to stop. Judas took one look at his partner’s abject distress and shifted his priority to providing comfort, even as he shot a last glare of rage to where the long-faced man was bent over in pain as his nose bled profusely all over the beige tiles.

Jesus let himself be guided away from the stares of the passers-by, his vision blurred by the sting of tears. When he was aware of his surroundings once more, they were seated on a flimsy mall bench, the hard wooden seat helping ground him as he tried to stop his hands from shaking.

"I'd like my shirt back, please," he said in a small voice. There was a soft rustle as the garment was produced and draped over his shoulders.

"Don't let anyone make you feel ashamed," Judas said, rubbing his back. "You did nothing to deserve that. Some people are just bigoted dipshits."

"I know." He sniffled. "I should have stood up to him...I was just...I was an idiot —"

"Stop. I won't hear you blaming yourself for anything like that, ever again." 

Jesus blinked at the reassuring command and nodded as he wiped his eyes. After a while, he asked softly: "Can we get ice cream?"

Judas kissed his forehead. "Of course."

It seemed like everything was alright as they dug into a large portion of coffee-and-rum gelato each. But three mouthfuls into his ice cream, Jesus started shaking, his face going pale as he hid it behind his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Judas slid an arm around him. He shook his head. “I don’t know.” The confrontation had left him unnerved and disoriented as he came crashing down from the high he had been riding all afternoon — and the full impact was only making itself felt now. He felt suddenly sick and miserable, unable to swallow anything. The feeling abated a little as he felt his boyfriend’s oversized jacket wrap around him, followed by the steady warmth of Judas’ arms. 

“You need some sugar.”

“I can’t...I feel like throwing up.”

“Something liquid then. And hot. Stay here, I’ll get you a drink.”

Jesus clung to him. “No. Stay with me. I need you to...please.” 

“Alright.” Judas kept his arms around Jesus until he calmed down and drew a few deep, shaky breaths.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ruin anything...” 

“Don’t apologize. That’s an order.”

Jesus smiled. He looked so soft and vulnerable that Judas couldn’t resist cradling his face and kissing him, ignoring any disapproving stares at their overly public display of affection. He stroked the back of Jesus’ neck, tracing the edge of the collar. “Do you need to stop?” he asked. “Want me to take it off?”

Jesus shook his head. “Not yet. Not till we’re home.”

“Alright. Let’s get you home, then.” He held his beloved close all the way to the car, sensing Jesus’ still-fragile state and concerned about something setting him off. “Did you have a good time?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Aside from the incident with the dipshit, I mean.” Beside him, Jesus nodded. 

“Good.” He reached over to squeeze the latter’s thigh. “Next time, I’ll take better care of you. I promise.”

“I know you will.” The steadying calm that had first filled him when Judas had put the collar on him was nestling once more in the base of his stomach. Jesus reached up to finger the leather resting just above his clavicle, feeling it encircle and envelope him like a pledge of safety, and of undying love.


	8. Battleship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hardly any actual BDSM, but more of "how to resolve a fight by being kinky bastards"

The idea of Monopoly team-ups had turned out to be a bad idea for everyone save John and Matthew, with John’s competitive streak and Matt’s head for strategy combining to wipe the floor with their friends. For a while, Mary and Peter had been inching ahead of them after their steady pace overtook Simon and James. The latter team had seemed primed to lead when Simon went on an aggressive buying streak, only to fall back rapidly when they failed to make back what they spent. The last hour of the game had seen James give up in favour of enjoying the drama of everyone else’s efforts. He was abysmal at the very basics and kept slipping up on collecting rent when he forgot which properties they owned (“If you’d stop trying to buy the entire board, we wouldn’t have this problem,” he had replied when Simon smacked him in the shoulder for the third time).

But if these two pairs endured their losses with good cheer, the same could not be said of the couple that wavered between leading and losing due to their inability to agree on anything. It was an indisputable fact of life that Judas and Jesus made a terrible team at anything more than mildly competitive. Jesus was of the opinion that Monopoly was a simulation of capitalist hell, while Judas was nearly head to head with Simon in trying to own every square inch of real estate, even if both had been repeatedly forced to sell in order to stay afloat.

In fact, Judas on his own would have had a fair chance of leaving Matthew and John in the dust (especially since Matt, like Jesus, lacked a ruthless streak entirely and would have been fine with letting someone else win). This was unfortunate because he and his boyfriend ended up losing as a result of their constant disagreements. And Judas was — whether or not he liked to admit it — a bit of a sore loser.

The tension that had picked up somewhere after the middle of the game continued to simmer between them long after the board had been folded and put away. Naturally, it turned out that Jesus had kept a record of every offhand insult his boyfriend had thrown his way on their rocky road to third place in the eventual rankings before Mary declared they should wrap things up for the sake of everyone's sanity.

"You know I didn't mean half the things I said, right?"

"Oh? And what about the other half?"

Judas mentally kicked himself for his poor choice of phrasing. His boyfriend was evidently in the mood to keep an argument going for the next two hours, because clearly he couldn't have channeled that energy into the game instead. 

"You know, you talk a big show about supporting each other's ambitions and such, but you can't even support me through one measly board game."

"You said I was useless!"

"Because you weren't even trying!"

"Maybe if you didn't keep ignoring my suggestions —"

"If I'd followed your suggestions we might as well not play at all." Judas exhaled his frustrations. "You know, Matthew's as much of a soft idiot as you, but at least he was behind John every step of the way."

An incensed flush crept up Jesus' face. "Then maybe you should —"

He never finished his sentence, cutting himself off and falling resolutely silent the rest of the way. Judas wondered if he'd fucked up big time by making comparisons to Matthew: a man with whom he had cheated on Jesus by hooking up with several times. (Matthew had been relatively new to the gang then and unaware that Judas was in a relationship at the time.) All of that was history now, and he knew Jesus had long forgiven him. Except that forgiving was not quite the same as forgetting. 

“Maybe I should what?” he said softly.

Jesus looked down with crossed arms, withdrawing into himself. “Nothing.”

He exited the car pointedly as soon as they were back home, striding ahead to the door and pulling away when Judas' hand brushed his shoulder as he fumbled with the keys. 

Judas sighed. “I shouldn’t have made that comparison. With John and Matt. Alright?” He held out his hands. “Can we please drop this damn thing?”

When no response was forthcoming, he tailed Jesus through the living room, rolling his eyes at the way the latter slammed the keys down on in their customary place in a show of pique. "Are you really going to throw a tantrum over this?"

Jesus whirled around, finally breaking his silence. "Tantrum??  _ You're _ the one being pissy over a...a stupid game!" Judas would have reacted badly to his words were it not for the hint of tears in his eyes. Clearly he was still smarting over Judas not apologizing for being harsh with him during their Monopoly-fuelled tussles that had begun as playful jibes before taking on a less pleasant tone. 

Judas could point a finger at him for being so goddamn sensitive. But he could also point three fingers back at himself for needing to win when it objectively didn't matter. He would have appreciated a bit of  _ cooperation _ , was all.

They spent the rest of the night with an invisible gap between them made of wounded pride and unspoken longing for the other to realise he was wrong and say the things that would make everything right again. When Jesus retired to bed, Judas let him go, deciding he would spend the night on the sofa rather than suffer more awkwardness. Tomorrow, surely, they'd both be in a more rational frame of mind.

Somewhere past one in the morning, he woke with a mild hunger that demanded a quick but satisfying snack. He opened the fridge, and almost immediately his eyes fell on the cling-wrapped plate of muffins from the batch Jesus had baked earlier in the day. Tiramisu with melted dark chocolate chips: one of Judas' favourites.

His heart ached a little as he bit into a muffin, tasting the love that had gone into it. Suddenly he felt the triviality of the irritation he had been so justified in harbouring up till minutes ago. The image of a tiny silver battleship taunted him for his obsessions, puny against the tidal waves of a love that had survived much larger, more painful hurdles than a game night gone sour.

He forced himself to finish the muffin even as its weight lay in his belly like a stone made of guilt. Instead of returning to the sofa, he found himself sliding into the bedroom and underneath the quilted blanket until he found the warmth of Jesus' body. The slight stiffening of the shoulders against him indicated that Jesus, like himself, was very much awake.

"I'm sorry for being an ass," he said to the quiet dark and to the back still turned to him. An honest apology that would have felt unnatural coming off his tongue years ago, but not so anymore.

After a few seconds, Jesus responded. "I'm sorry for being useless."

"Don't say that. It was just a stupid game."

It took another short stretch of silence for him to realise that wasn't the assurance his boyfriend was looking for. He ran a hand down the curve of the shoulder that had slipped free of the blanket. "I didn't mean  _ any _ of the shit I said," he stated. "I was frustrated, because I'm petty like that sometimes. And I...I'm sorry. Alright?"

Jesus turned to face him at last. He didn't answer, at least not in words, instead snuggling into the welcoming curve of Judas' body. After some time, he said quietly: “You’re not the only one who’s petty.” Jesus sniffled. “I shouldn’t be such an idiot.”

Judas wiped the trace of tears from beneath his eyes and kissed him. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty enough to make up for it.”

Jesus kicked him lightly in the shin, only to melt and sigh contentedly when Judas’ arms tightened around him. Contentment quickly became need when Judas left a trail of love bites down his neck. "Don't," he murmured while simultaneously pressing every inch of himself against his beloved.

“Why, do you need your beauty sleep?” Their mouths met again, exchanging hot hungry breaths. A smile tugged at the corner of Jesus’ soft lips after they parted. 

"I shouldn’t be encouraging you, but…”

“But what?”

“When you got all aggressive during the game," Jesus confessed in a whisper, “part of me wished I was playing against you instead."

"Hmm. We'd still be fighting now if that happened. Don't you think?"

"I don’t know." He bit his lower lip in the way Judas always found irresistible. "But at least you’d have the chance to properly defeat me."

A rush of heat shot straight to Judas' nether regions at what the statement implied. Jesus wanted to be crushed by him, dominated, to be put in his place. And then later, in private, have Judas hold him down forcefully — perhaps tie him up for good measure — and lay claim to his body: the defeated spoils of victory.

He spilled this proposition into Jesus' ears and watched him redden and squirm. "Is  _ that _ what you want from the next game of Monopoly?"

His uncontrolled whines as Judas locked his hips in place and ground against him was answer enough. The thought was indeed tantalizing: each innocuous move across the squares of land an act of conquering and submission, each placement of a building a mark upon the subjugated. Jesus could protest the savage simulation of capitalism all he liked. But when the game pieces fell and the money was counted, he would know he had been bought and owned. And then, in the mock-struggle of shame and degradation that never failed to get them aroused, he would submit to the one who owned him until both were utterly spent and sated.

Judas slid on top and reached between Jesus thighs, ordering him to spread his legs before running his thumb down the hard leaking sex. He kept his movements cool and methodical, delighting in Jesus’ barely restrained whimpers. “Goddamn slut,” he growled before slapping Jesus across the face just hard enough to make him gasp. Jesus nearly came there and then, with Judas’ hand still around his cock. “What if someone else wins the next game? You’d spread your legs for them too?”

“N-no. Never.”

“And what if they make you? Claim you as they have every right to? Hmm?”

His breaths were growing quick and sharp. “I guess you’d...have to...to win me back.”

“I’d certainly have to.” Judas slid his fingers into the panting mouth, making him taste his own pre-come. “I’d need to make sure everyone knows you’re spoken for.”

With his tongue stilled, Jesus could only moan his assent. The very thought of being thoroughly consumed by Judas’ aggressive assertion of ‘ownership’ was driving him wild. By the time Judas’ fingers were thrusting in and out of him, loosening him up to be properly fucked, he had become incoherent and urged his lover on with breathless moans and writhing more desperately with another, harder slap. Once he was sufficiently prepared, Judas pinned his wrists down, thrust right into him and fucked him at a brutal pace, pausing long enough only to gag him with his own underwear. “You’re loud for someone who plays at being a chaste little saint.” The mocking statement caused him to moan and his lashes to flutter, his breathing stifled just enough to add an edge to his throes of pleasure. He struggled against being forcefully silenced (knowing how it heightened both their enjoyment) until Judas turned his struggles into shivering, wretched pleas for release by teasing and stroking his swollen sex until he was pushed to the very edge.

They ended up climaxing almost simultaneously before sinking, blissfully drained, into each other’s arms. Judas removed the wadded-up fabric and kissed Jesus tenderly. “Next time I’ll use a proper gag. With your name on it.”

Jesus shivered in anticipation even as he surrendered to the post-coital heaviness taking over his limbs. Even after all this time, his thirst for the joys of submission remained endless. And Judas adored him all the more for it.

“You know, we haven’t dug out that old chess set in forever,” he remarked a while later as they lay perfectly entangled in a languid after-haze. “Don’t need to wait for the next Monopoly game night if you’re keen on being annihilated.”

Jesus didn’t answer, having fallen into a deeply contented slumber some minutes ago. Judas shifted their bodies carefully so as not to wake him until Jesus’ head was resting lightly on his chest and ran his fingers through the soft mop of wavy hair as he drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of silver battleships turning into chess pieces, sliding across a series of squares, a multitude of moves all leading to the same delightful end.


End file.
